


Bentley Station, Now Arriving

by LadyLondonderry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Space, Cinderella Elements, M/M, Outer Space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 11:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13762752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLondonderry/pseuds/LadyLondonderry
Summary: Harry Styles, omega. Owns a bakery on a train station in the middle of nowhere.Niall Horan, meddling friend who wont leave him or his love life alone.(lack of love life).There's a ball coming up, and Harry is going to attend. Niall will make certain of that.





	Bentley Station, Now Arriving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QuickedWeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickedWeen/gifts).



Harry Styles lives in a train station in the middle of nowhere.

Well, it’s not really the middle of nowhere. It’s the middle of a number of train routes; the connecting stop where everyone streams off of one train and onto another. It’s bright white sterile walls, and faux black arches made to look like the ones that decorated train stations in the 19th, 20th centuries on earth, and it’s black and white tiles with just a hint of scuffs and footprints.

The last train leaves at 10pm, and the first morning train arrives at 7am, so for nine hours every night, Harry is the only one in the deserted station. It’s a little eerie, the only sound coming from the whoosh of the sterile, recycled space station air being pumped through the platform. Harry’s bakery is the only business here, since it’s a commuter platform and not an end-destination for anyone.

He’s gotten used to it, though. It’s been years since he started working here, and the fear he used to feel curled deep inside his gut, at being an omega, alone and helpless, has long since faded through the mundane day-to-day work of running the bakery.

It’s life.

— 

“Three buns,” Niall says, letting a stack of coins clatter onto the table.

“More specific,” says Harry, taking the coins and stacking them by type. Niall always hands over too much; he says it’s not his own money, so he doesn’t see a need to be miserly about it.

“I wouldn’t know,” Niall shrugs, glancing at the board behind Harry. “Honey? Ooh, no, give me hot crossed. Like the song. You really make those?”

“We make almost twenty different kinds of buns,” Harry says. “Hot crossed buns are literally the easiest. It’s just bread with currants and cinnamon.”

“Yeah, I want that,” Niall says. “I’ll tell them it’s some sort of seasonal thing.”

“It  _ is _ a seasonal thing,” Harry says, absently counting out the money and handing back more than half. “Back on earth. You do remember there’s no seasons on a space station?”

“What the royal family doesn’t know won’t hurt them,” Niall says. 

Harry doesn’t understand how Niall hasn’t been fired yet. As one of three head cooks to the royal family, he handles mostly breakfast, and spends most of his time lounging about in Harry’s shop while he bakes.

Harry supposes that this makes him some sort of unofficial baker to the royal family. Just with none of the pay raise or perks. 

“The first batch of everything is still in the oven,” Harry says. “You know where the coffee is. You know where the chairs are. Make yourself as at home as always.”

Niall raises his eyebrows. “You’re in a chipper mood this morning,” he says, continuing to lean over the counter. “Bee in your bonnet?”

Harry rolls his eyes, then yawns. “Leave me alone,” he says. “You’re the only one who’s ever here this early in the morning. Usually I’m just grumpy on my own.”

Niall squints at him. “You smell funny,” he says. “Were you on a date last night? You’re legally obligated to tell me if you were.”

“Your job doesn’t legally obligate anyone to do shit,” Harry says back, no bite behind his words. “I  _ was,  _ in fact, on a date. It was shit. Someone should give me a gold medal for the number of alpha arseholes I’ve kicked out of my flat just in time for the last train in the last six months. Is  _ every _ good alpha out there taken?”

“Probably,” Niall says. “I got the last one.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted him,” Harry calls as he walks into the back. “Bressie smells funny!”

“You take that back!” he hears Niall yell, but Harry’s not going to take back something that’s  _ true. _ Bressie smells weird. Or not weird, just… too strong. Like he’s doused himself in that alpha-scented cologne that tweens wear just when their scent is starting to develop. It’s probably because he spends all day in the fields getting sweaty and buff harvesting crops. Fucking farmer needs a shower.

Still, he loves Niall. So Harry tolerates him and his scent.

Styles and Co. Bakery (which stands for Styles and Cox, as it was founded as a family establishment) doesn’t tend to see much action until around seven in the morning, when the first public train pulls into the station. Niall, working for the royal family, has access to private trains that run at his command, so he can get there earlier, but Harry rarely sees anyone else before the first train of people on their way to work pulls up. 

“Are you done yet?” Niall yells as Harry checks on the loaves one by one.

“Hold your fucking horses,” Harry yells. “Give them time!”

He pulls out the lemon poppyseed bread, the ginger buns, and the blueberry muffins. If the hot crossed buns are going to be served to royalty he’s going to make extra sure they’re just the right amount of crispy.

By the time he comes back to the front with a box of four  _ perfect _ hot crossed buns, Niall has taken to lounging across three chairs next to the door.  _ “Finally,” _ he says, sounding exasperated.

“Give the royal family my love,” Harry says, plastering on an incredibly fake toothy smile. 

“Of course,” Niall says. “Right after I ask Princess Poppy if she’ll have your hand in marriage.”

“I think they might arrest me for even asking,” Harry says, laughing. “Royalty needs royal omegas, not the ones who sleep at train stations.”

“I keep telling you I can get you a better place,” Niall rolls his eyes. “Someday you’ll take me up on that.”

“Absolutely not,” Harry says. “Now shoo. I’m not getting myself beheaded because their breakfast was late.”

Niall scoffs but bids his farewell, the bells above the door jingling behind him and leaving the bakery in silence. Harry waits until he’s out of sight and then rests his forehead on the countertop for a moment. He knows Niall once again snuck all his spare coins into the tip jar while Harry was in the back, because he  _ always does, _ and for once Harry’s a little grateful. Business isn’t bad, per se, but because of the change in tariff laws that have been going into place in the last couple months, they’ve been forced to lower the cost of their goods, losing necessary profit. They’re doing alright now, but as soon as any of his workers gets sick or an oven needs repair they’re going to be sunk. Not to mention the amount he has to take out of his own paycheck to send back home… 

He slides the coins into the register, closing the drawer and hearing the metallic  _ whoosh _ as they’re dematerialized, rematerializing (hopefully) in his bank account seven stations over. 

They keep saying that dematerialization is going to be possible for living things soon, that space travel is going to become near instantaneous, but so far it’s pretty clear that nothing living has ever… stayed living in the process.

Still, Harry hopes. He’d love to see something outside of the three space stations that make up his current life. 

He’d also love an actual date that didn’t end in an alpha inappropriately scenting him, really. He wants a life that involves an alpha like Niall has, as much as he doesn’t want to admit that to Niall; an alpha who thinks Harry’s the center of the world, or at least worth coming home to at night. He doesn’t need to be rich, Harry figures, or even well-off. He’d take a penniless alpha moving into the train station with him over an arsehole alpha who thinks Harry should worship the ground he walks on.

Harry would like to devote his whole self to an alpha someday, but not one who demands that love by force. He’s had enough experience with alphas like that, and he knows better now, even if his dad doesn’t.

Okay.  _ Focus. _ He draws a deep breath and lifts his head up, opening his eyes and gazing out the windows at the empty station that will soon be filled with people filing off the train. He has breakfast breads to plate. 

— 

“You’re gonna love me,” Niall says.

“I’m off work in four minutes, and then I’m going to  _ ignore _ you,” Harry replies, dusting his hands on his apron. 

“You’re off work in four minutes, and then you’re going to let me take you  _ shopping, _ you mean,” Nall says. “Because you’ve got a ball to go to!”

Harry snorts - quite loudly. A few patrons who have stopped to have coffee glance over at them. 

“I’m a grown man,” Harry says. “I might have been willing to go to a ball when I was like, six. Maybe seven.”

“You’d love a ball now, you absolute liar,” Niall tells him. “Which is good, because you and I are going to attend the ball that the royal family is throwing for the visiting royals. You’re in charge of the cake. I’ve already scanned the coins into your account; you’re practically rich now, thank me later.”

“How did you get the scan to my account?” Harry shrieks, tapping into his account and staring at the insane amount that Niall has apparently paid him. What the fuck, Niall.

“I’ve been friends with you longer than you’ve had a bank account,” Niall says. “You think I couldn’t hack into that?”

“You’re a cook,” says Harry, leveling him with a look. “Not a criminal mastermind.”

“I am whatever this plot needs me to be,” says Niall. “But that’s not the point. The  _ point, _ dear Harry, is that you and I are going to go shopping, and we’re going to pick you out a fabulous outfit, and you’re going to go to this ball and bond some dignitary - local or visiting - and live happily ever after. You got that? I’m sick of seeing you at work every day.”

“That is literally the only reason you see me,” says Harry. “If I bond a dignitary and he makes me quit work we will never see each other.”

“Nonsense,” Niall waves his hand dismissively. “You’ll employ me, and Bressie and I will move into your lavish mansion on a nice green planet somewhere and we will all get our happily ever afters.”

“You’re ridiculous,” says Harry, just as he sees Jade coming into the shop. “And I’m off the clock. So I’m going to go into the back and  _ hide _ until you’ve gone, you got that?”

“I am but a meager paying customer,” says Niall. “Sitting alone in this shop waiting for some strong alpha to sweep me off my feet. You can’t stop me.”

“Closing time can stop you.”

— 

Harry doesn’t make Niall wait all the way until closing time. For one thing, Jade always gives Niall sweets because she thinks he’s adorable, so it would only encourage him. He does take a quick nap, though, because he finds the closer he gets to his quarterly heats, the more he finds himself unnecessarily tired. Just another perk of being an omega. 

“Okay,” Harry says, plonking himself into the chair across from Niall and reaching back to tie his hair up with a green scarf. “Where are we off to on this shopping expedition of yours?”

Niall grins. “I was thinking Marks and Sparks.” 

He stands, obnoxiously slurping the rest of his drink as he walks toward the door. “Come on! The private train isn’t going to wait all day!”

“We’re going to get mugged someday,” Harry mutters, jogging after him.

Several hundred years ago, with the advent of black hole energy mining, Earth suddenly found itself with a veritable permanent, clean energy supply. So what did the British do? Make more trains. It took almost another hundred years before they started venturing past their own solar system, but boy did they jump on trains right away. Brits and their public transit systems. Even in space.

Niall leads him to the very end of the station, past several trains waiting for passengers, to a single train car right at the end of the line. It’s keyed into Niall’s facial recognition so the doors open automatically, and they climb on.

“Next stop, Marks and Sparks!” Niall shouts, pulling a lever that Harry is one hundred percent convinced is only for show, because all he needs to do is key in the address to the controls. 

“You really abuse this privilege,” Harry says. “Not that I’m complaining, but aren’t you ever worried about being fired?”

Niall shrugs, plopping down in one of the plush red chairs and glancing out the window behind him. “Some people have so much money they don’t have to care where it goes. The royal family owns public transit, I don’t think they’ll notice a car going missing now and again.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely going to get fired at some point.”

Harry settles in on the seat next to Niall, and turns to look out the window at the world speeding by below them. 

The space stations where they live criss cross over the entirety of the earth; small white lines where the trains travel through shooting off in every direction, and larger bubbles where the stations are, dropping people off to live their lives thousands of miles above the planet.

Down below, the earth is green and blue; lush with foliage from the repopulation act, and used almost exclusively for tourism. The air isn’t as clean, isn’t as sterile, and although it’s beautiful, down there people have to deal with natural events disrupting their lives, and  _ bugs.  _ Mosquitoes and cockroaches and whatever other hideous things. Harry had been down for a few field trips when he was younger, but overall he’s perfectly happy to live his life above the clouds, where everything is safer.

It’s not that long a trip, but Harry woke up in the early hours of the morning and, even with the nap he’s taken, he finds himself lulled to sleep by the gentle motions of the speeding car; tucking his hands into his armpits and spreading his legs across the floor of the car, he tips his head back and closes his eyes.

The next thing Harry is aware of, he’s got Niall prodding at his side.

“Wake up, sleepy face. We’re here and I’m bored.”

Harry groans, cracking open his eyes. He’s apparently fallen against Niall at some point in his sleep, and… drooled on him. Gross. Maybe Niall didn’t notice.

“Also, you drooled on me. Gross.”

Damn.

Harry stretches his arms, then his legs, and hoists himself off of the seat. “Alright Niall, show me the outfit you clearly have already planned out for me.”

“That’s the spirit!” Niall says, leading them off the train car. The second they’re off, it begins moving down the rails away from them.

The platform is crowded with people moving every which way, and Harry vaguely recognizes the mall they’ve come to, with its high ceilings, faux marble columns and fake windows that show sunlight pouring in no matter the time of day. 

Niall, clearly getting impatient with Harry’s gazing about, grabs his wrist and leads him through the throngs of people. They enter into the greater mall area and Harry is met with at least ten floors worth of window displays arching upward in front of him. It’s terribly overwhelming, and no  _ wonder _ he likes the solitude of his own flat above the bakery if this is what it’s like to be out in the world.

“Come  _ on _ Harry, if you start gazing at the displays you’ll never stop, they change every ten minutes anyway.”

Harry lets himself continue to get pulled along by the wrist and suddenly they’re in a much more enclosed space; a white hallway, bright and plain, with doors as far as the eye can see. Niall leads him down, past a number of doors, and eventually opens one, as nondescript as the rest, and leads the two of them into Marks and Spencers.

Or, more accurately, a large white room with a podium in the middle displaying a digital Marks and Spencers catalogue. 

“We’re going for suits, shoes, and maybe some hair products,” Niall says, walking up and sliding his finger over the options until the one he wants appears. Harry squawks, wanting to know exactly what Niall thinks is wrong with his hair, but is steadfastly ignored. Sliding through pages and pages of catalog, Niall eventually taps the screen, and the room flickers to life around them, no longer a stark white room but instead the inside of a crowded department store; specifically the clothing section. Soft music starts playing, an old classic that Harry vaguely remembers from his childhood (it was old even then);  _ “Just stop your crying, it’s a sign of the times…” _

It’s a diverse selection, with every piece appearing already tailored to Harry’s size (assuming Niall knows his size, and somehow Harry doesn’t doubt it). 

“I’m thinking something classic. Sleek,” Niall goes towards one of the racks and begins pulling down a number of similar looking black suits. One of them seems to be a nice velvety material, but even so, Harry doesn’t feel particularly drawn to them.  _ Black, _ that’s rather boring.

“Come on, Harry, try these and tell me what you think.” 

He finds himself attacked with three suits to the face, and falls back from the force of them. Dragging them off his face, he wrinkles his nose at the strong synthetic smell. These would give him a headache if he wore them without washing them with a handful of de-scenting pods.

He thinks they look incredibly drab, but Niall threw them at him so he has to try at least one on. He wanders off to see if there’s a mirror somewhere, finding one behind a tall rack of collared shirts in a rainbow of colours, and strips down in front of it.

He was right. The suits are incredibly boring. 

“Niall,” he whines after trying on the second one. “I don’t  _ like _ black!”

Niall pops up with his hands full of black and navy materials. “Well  _ now _ you tell me,” he says, exasperated. “I don’t care! Go find something you like, then!”

Harry sticks out his tongue at Niall before stripping down to his pants again. “Well I was just trying to be  _ obliging,” _ he says, leaving the suit in a heap on the floor as he goes off through the racks. “If I’m going to spend your money on something, I somehow feel as if you should like it!”

“Ha!” Niall calls from behind him. “It’s  _ your _ money now, you tosser!”

Harry scoffs and shimmies out of the suit. It’s a good thing these rooms are private, as he’s just walking around in his pants at this point, clothes discarded all around the room. When they’re ready to leave they’ll close the room down and everything that isn’t theirs will be dematerialized; he’ll figure out where his clothes are then.

His eyes are drawn back to the rainbow rack, the display of shirts in all different colours. He goes searching through it, and then to another section with brighter clothes, and then to one with a bit more unusual pieces, and-

“This one,” Harry whispers, looking into the mirror. He knows Niall will call it hideous. Maybe it  _ is  _ hideous, he’s not even sure at this point, but he loves it. It makes him feel happy to wear. The ruffles and the different shades of pink in swirly flower patterns, and the bows on the wrists that swoop down and sail through the air when he waves his arms, it’s…

“That’s hideous,” says Niall, coming up from behind and meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Yeah,” says Harry.

“You’ll need some new shoes,” says Niall.

Harry wiggles his arms a little and watches the bows sway through the air. “Yeah,” he says.

It’s such a waste of money, is the thing. This… blouse, for lack of a better word, and the black boots with shining gold buckles on the sides, they’re beautiful and Harry loves them, but he also feels ridiculous when he looks at himself in the mirror and thinks about how much he could be putting in his savings account if he didn’t buy these. Harry frowns. It might even double his savings, if his mother never found out… 

“I know that look,” says Niall when Harry’s got them all packed into a bag with the stark M&S label splashed across the side. “And it’s not even technically your money. It’s my money that I’ve just put in your account. So it doesn’t count.”

Harry purses his lips. 

“I promise,” says Niall. “Plus, when this is all over you’ll be married to a rich alpha and living in luxury. It won’t matter then anyway.”

At that Harry snorts. “Why do you keep  _ saying _ that?” he asks. “You do realise that, as the baker, I’ll show up, put the cake on display, and then fade into the background and leave, correct? Like, they’re not going to see my paisley pink blouse and go,  _ oh, omega! Marry me! _ That’s just not how that works.”

Leaving the Marks and Spencers together, Harry stumbles a little as Niall grabs the handles of the bag he’s carrying and pulls him to a stop. 

“Harry,” he says, looking more serious than a Niall should. “First of all, any alpha worth his spunk is going to be dropping to their knees as soon as they see you. But secondly, and I can promise you this,  _ I have a plan.” _

“That sounds  _ incredibly suspicious,” _ Harry hisses as they move out of the way of a gaggle of children running past.

“I know,” says Niall cheerfully. He begins walking again, and Harry has to scramble to keep up. 

— 

Niall, incredible behind-the-scenes-spy-disguised-as-a-cook, apparently broke the news to Harry a whole week before it became public to the rest of the population. It’s not until the next Monday that the gossip he hears in his shop begins to be centered around the upcoming ball.

It’s for Princess Poppy, the eldest of the two royal children. Poppy presented as an omega three years ago at the late age of sixteen, and as is traditional, she seems to be looking for a mate before she hits twenty. Harry can understand the the feeling; spending heats alone for the last five years certainly hasn’t been the most pleasant, and he was a late bloomer - not presenting until he was seventeen.

It’s become the talk of the station - whispers about which visiting dignitaries and royals will be attending, how far they’re traveling from, and so on. It sounds like everyone who’s anybody is supposed to be coming, sending people from all over their half of the galaxy. 

It takes everything in Harry to look impassive as the gossip flows around the station. He’s going to the palace. Niall insists he’s going to the ball. Harry’s going to get to use the royal kitchens to bake the official royal pudding, and as a reward (whether the palace is aware of this part or not) he will be allowed to attend.

Harry is pretty sure the palace is not aware of this part.

He has no clue how Niall seems to get away with everything.

He doesn’t know when Niall’s grand plans will finally come crashing down around them. He hopes it will not be soon.

— 

The palace is beautiful.

Harry’s only ever seen pictures and projected displays of it before; if you don’t have an official appointment of some kind at the palace, the train won’t even go there with you on it. Stepping onto the platform from the train, Harry gulps and tightens his grip on Niall’s hand. The train station they’ve arrived at has a wall of glass that separates their stale, sterile recycled air and the lush, green gardens of the palace. Harry has never seen so much greenery in his life, and suddenly it’s there in front of him, sprawling for what must be almost a mile, the palace standing tall right in the middle.

It’s enclosed by a glass dome, arching to the sky with the highest spire of the castle right in the middle, seeming like it just barely touches it. 

According to the history books, the castle was built in the style of the castles that sprawled across Europe in the old days, a combination and recreation of several styles, but with completely modern materials to keep it upright and standing longer than anything on Earth. It’s made of a beautiful white stone mined several planets away, and it’s a maze of high walls, towers and spires that make it look like it’s out of a children’s story. 

It’s at this point more than any other in his life that Harry is aware of just how small his world is.

“Come on then,” Niall says, tugging him along. “We go in the side entrance, this way.”

It’s now that Harry remembers Niall comes here every day. Incredible.

Niall leads him around to the end of the platform and through a small service door. They enter a long, narrow tunnel that reminds Harry of a mouse hole. Niall motions to Harry to stand on a grey platform with grab bars on either side. “If you let go of those it  _ will _ hurt,” Niall warns, before waving his hand at the wall and steadying himself as it jumps to life. 

Harry does grab on for dear life, but even so he’s thrown against Niall as the platform begins speeding down the hallway.  _ “Fuck me,” _ he grits out, feeling like he’s about to lose his breakfast from the breakneck speed they’re going.

Niall cackles at his pain. Harry considers vomiting on him.

When the platform comes to a stop, just as suddenly, Harry finds himself thrown the other way, stumbling into the wall. “How the  _ fuck _ do you do this every morning?”

“Oh, I have it go at half that speed,” Niall tells him cheerfully. “I just thought it was a good time to test how fast it goes.”

“I hate you,” says Harry, doubling over and resting against the cool wall. “You have ruined all palaces for me forever.”

“Nonsense,” says Niall. “Come on.”

He pushes open a door and leads them into a larger hallway, long and made of cool stone that echoes their footsteps as they walk. It smells like Earth, in a way that Harry has very rarely experienced. The space stations he’s lived in all his life have had the same sterile air, recycled and refreshed his whole life. Fresh air is for the well-off, and he hasn’t been anywhere near that in a long time. It’s overwhelming on his senses, his sensitive omega nose scrunching automatically.

“You get used to it,” Niall says, noticing Harry’s expression. “But I gotta warn you, you haven’t experienced true alpha scent until you’ve smelled an alpha in the fresh air like this. It can be a shock.”

“Oh god,” says Harry. “You tell me this  _ now? _ I don’t know how you think I’ll be able to withstand a whole ballroom full of alphas. This is why this things like this are for rich people!”

“You’ll be fine,” Niall shrugs and turns a corner, pulling Harry after him. “You’ll get used to it. Drink some champagne - alcohol helps.”

Harry doesn’t think he’s going to survive this.

Winding passage follows winding passage until Harry feels incredibly turned around and lost until finally Harry found himself in an open, cavernous looking kitchens area.

Everything looks spotless and new, black and white tile covering the floor and walls that look like they’re scrubbed too regularly to even imagine lasting grease stains. 

Harry’s little bakery back home is a mess in comparison. He chooses not to dwell on it.

“Well,” says Niall, “Here we are! Work your magic, bakery boy. We need a cake for the ball.”

— 

Baking is something Harry has always loved to do, since long before coming to own the bakery. It’s calming, centering. It’s measured movements and measured ingredients and the sweet smells of rising dough and sugars wafting through the workspace. It’s also, often, a solo endeavor. Working alone kneading bread in the early hours of the morning before the rest of the world is awake. It’s Protected Employment under the Right to Work Act that was put in place almost three centuries ago that protects his job from being overtaken by pure machinery, which also means that he’s guaranteed this job for as long as he’s strong enough to whisk.

It’s also the only reason he was ever able to move out of his father’s home.

For years Harry spent day after day working to convince his father, a severe old alpha of a man, that he was grateful for having been taken in, and taken care of after being dropped on his doorstep when Harry was only seven, his mum promising to come back for him before disappearing one final time into the night. He always knew he was a burden, knew his father didn’t think highly of his mum, but he had been married to her sister and so it was some sort of family bond that kept him from kicking Harry to the kerb. Barely.

Maybe after all those years spent trying to prove himself, prove that he wasn’t a “wasted investment,” as his father would mutter under his breath, prove that he could provide for them (in after-school jobs that just became jobs when it wasn’t feasible for him to attend past the age of twelve), prove that he was just as important as his sister, whom his father expected the best and gave the best… After all those years, the quiet and calm of the bakery felt almost healing.

Most omegas would have been set up on dates a half dozen times by their parents within their year of presenting. Most omegas would have been shown by their parents how alphas should treat them, lectured in what is appropriate behavior to expect and whom to immediately leave in the dust. They would have been talked up to every alpha in the area, gone to social gatherings at their parents insistence… 

Maybe that’s why Harry is still single. He doesn’t like to dwell on it.

He dwells, instead, on the ingredients in front of him. Niall has gotten him everything he asked for, and everything is copper and polished and beautiful, so different from his dinged up, mismatched pieces. He feels like he’s in heaven.

As much as he told Niall he was ridiculous for giving Harry this responsibility, he’s also been planning this cake during every bit of his free time, imagining the designs of the icing flowers he wants to put, the ombre of colours he’s planning on using. 

Niall’s given him all day; the ball doesn’t start until eight, and it’s only nine in the morning now. The lighting of the palace reflects it - solar lamps lighting the outdoors that are timed to make it look there is a rising and setting sun. This far from the planet, the sunlight generally isn’t correct the time of day, so solar lamps are a common sight.

There is a glass case of eggs in front of him, enough to feed an army. It looks like it could be a museum display, with how artfully each perfect white shell lay against one another.

He takes fulfillment in the  _ crack _ of each one as he breaks them into a bowl.

— 

Niall, presumably, left minutes after Harry entered the kitchens.

It takes Harry about an hour to notice that he’s gone.

He shrugs and continues to beat the soft, lavender-scented mixture in the bowl he has hugged to his chest.

— 

Princess Poppy, referred to in articles as “The gentlest omega, willing to do whatever is necessary to help the weak and smell like the freshest of flowers as she does so”, will have a number of cakes, each of different sweet scents and tastes. A lavender madeira cake for the historical factor. A strawberry cake for the sweetness, a victoria sponge for her ancestors (technically unrelated, as the history books inform him), a tower of lemon tarts for the richness they will add. 

He works tirelessly, barely even noticing the changing of the lighting in the windows. This is his moment. He expects nothing to come of it, but he wants to give everything he has. As he works, he tries his hardest not to dwell on Niall’s promise of finding him an alpha tonight. Niall is definitely promising more than he can possibly offer. Harry still finds hope bubbling in his chest anyway. Few alphas are interested in a poor omega who lives at a train station, surely even fewer are of noble blood.

— 

“Harry!” Niall’s voice calls from behind as Harry is plating the final cake - the madeira. “Harry, you ready, mate? You’re going to have to get changed soon, the guests are already starting to arrive.”

Harry has spent the last several hours talking himself out of going.

“I think I’ll actually just let you put the cakes out,” he reasons. “You’re the head chef, after all, I don’t actually belong there in anyway.”

Niall gives him a look. “Wrong answer.”

“Niall!” Harry whines. “I’m serious! I’m not a noble!”

“You are tonight,” says Niall. He taps his wrist, an analog clock appearing. “And we have… twenty four minutes to get you ready. Come on, you’re about to make all those alphas  _ drool, _ I swear.”

“That’s incredibly gross and not something I want any alpha around me to do for any reason,” Harry mumbles. He looks back at his cakes forlornly. They’re perfect. He’s given them his everything.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep your babies safe,” says Niall. “Now come on, the staff quarters has a bathing area for people who live here and it’s  _ fantastic.” _

— 

It is pretty fantastic, it turns out.

An hour later, Harry is scrunching the most delicious smelling mousse into his hair, the pink blouse hanging off his shoulders in just the right way, and black jeans that took him ages to wiggle into sitting snugly on his hips. 

Niall walks into the room where Harry is seated at the mirror, a small box in his hand. “You ready for your winning piece?” he says, face alight.

“My what?”

Niall hands the box over to him and Harry takes it, flipping it open to reveal a long golden chain with two pendants hanging delicately from it; two birds in flight, facing each other from a few centimetres apart. 

“It’s a good luck charm,” Niall says. “Was my mam’s.”

Harry is touched. “You’re absolutely ridiculous,” he says. “This isn’t a fairytale, you know.”

Still, he hooks it around his neck, admiring the way the birds sit against his collarbones.

“Life is a fairytale if you’ve got a fucking Irishman for a best friend,” Niall says. “Irish luck and fae and all that.”

“Ireland hasn’t been a country in a few hundred years, but go off,” Harry says, earning him a punch in the shoulder.

— 

Harry stands at the doorway to the ballroom. He’s peeked inside of it once, twice in the last five minutes, and each time has left him feeling dizzy. The air smells like  _ flowers _ in volumes like he’s never known. It smells like  _ omega _ and  _ alpha alpha alpha _ and those smells, swirling and mixing, only add to the beautiful decor, the beautiful people, that he sees whenever he gets up the courage to, once again, peek around the doorway. 

Everyone in there looks natural, beautiful, normal. They look like they do this sort of thing every day, and to an extent Harry realises that they do. These are the richest of people, the royals from around the galaxy, around the space stations and bordering planets and everyone who’s anyone. They’ve likely grown up in these environments, the best of the best, surrounded by foliage and greenery, breathing in each other’s scents without having them muted by the air conditioners whose job it is to strip the air of everything but the most clinical of chemicals needed to live. He wonders if it’s true what they say in the articles; that royals don’t need to moisturize or wash their face because there’s natural dew in the air after watering the plants. It sounds absurd, but everyone out there looks… well perfect, honestly.

His cakes are already out there, Niall had them delivered while he was getting dressed.  _ They _ look like they belong, at least; just as colourful and bright as the omega princess at the far end of the room, her dress the largest and most extravagant of them all. 

He feels overdressed - not because he’s dressed more finely than anyone out there, he’s actually more subtle in his chosen garments than most of what they wear - but he feels overdressed in that everything he’s wearing feels like it wasn’t meant for him. He’s a baker. He will be a baker once again after this night is over. These clothes are meant for someone going somewhere, doing something. He should head home, crawl into something soft and bland, and curl up under the blankets and sleep until today is forgotten about, the day he thought he could be more than he was. 

He’ll have to apologise to Niall tomorrow.

He turns, feet unsteady as if they disagree with the mistake he’s making, and starts walking back the other way, hoping he can remember the way back that Niall showed him earlier. 

He’s coming up on a fork in the hallway,and, entirely unsure which way he’s supposed to go, he decides to pick one direction and act confident.  _ Left, _ he thinks to himself. That sounds good. 

Even the hallways here smell good, smells he doesn’t even have words to describe, like places he’s never been to before.

He turns left, keeping up that even pace.

He runs directly into another wall.

_ Fuck. _

_ “Fuck, shit,” _ he hisses, stepping backward and hitting the wall at an angle before landing directly on his arse.

“Oh shit, fuck. Are you okay? Shit. Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

Harry looks up, finding to his shock that he’s not run into a wall at all, but a man. 

An  _ alpha. _

He smells extraordinary, and Harry realises that what he was smelling earlier was this man, this fit, yet curvy alpha in the most delicious navy blue suit, hair almost as long as his own and styled artfully, a dusting of facial hair on his cheeks and concern in his blue eyes.

Concern. 

_ “Oh,” _ says Harry. “You’re talking to  _ me.” _

“I-” the alpha seems taken aback. “Yes? Fuck, did you hit your head? Is this what a concussion does?”

“Um.” Harry did not hit his head, but he briefly considers saying that he did, because oh dear he is not handling this interaction well. But just being so close to this alpha is making him feel light-headed, like he’s been sipping on bubbly all night. “No, no, unfortunately not.”

“Unfortunately?” the man raises an eyebrow. His eyebrows look like they have been sculpted by the gods. “You’d like to have hit your head?”

_ “No,” _ Harry argues weakly, sitting on his bum in a hallway and staring up at this local Adonis. “I’m just behaving a bit of a fool and would like an excuse.”

He… did he really just say that out loud? Maybe he  _ is _ drunk.

Adonis Alpha laughs, and Harry watches in wonder as his whole face relaxes in it, eyes scrunched up and smile genuine. “Well if that’s the case,” he says, “let me act the fool as well and say I didn’t expect to run into any omegas so far from the ball, and I’ve forgotten my place. Please, let me help you up.”

He holds out a hand and Harry takes it; his own hand dwarfs this alpha’s, but there’s a steady strength there that Harry wants to envelop himself in. When he’s pulled to his feet he realises, to his own embarrassment, that he’s actually a few inches taller than Blue Eyes Beautiful.

Still, the alpha doesn’t comment on it. “Were you heading back to the dance? I’m on my way back, I confess have a penchant for exploring when I get the chance.”

“I,” says Harry. The alpha is still holding his hand. Will he continue to do so if they walk back to the ball together? Harry would rather like that. “I was just, um, getting some air.”

“Ah yes, it’s a bit stuffy in there,” the alpha says. He takes a deep breath and Harry feels embarrassment and pleasure at the same time that it’s only his scent this alpha is smelling. “I always think it’s a bit ridiculous, putting that many suitors in a room and just expecting an omega to  _ pick one _ . So many scents swirling together, I don’t think I’d be able to tell if my best friend was standing next to me.”

Harry snorts. He does feel similar, thinking about how just standing at the edge of that room overwhelmed him. Maybe he’s not… so different from the royals after all. 

“So, were you ready to head back, or shall we stand here in the hallway a while longer?” asks the alpha. He hasn’t dropped Harry’s hand, and Harry feels acutely aware of his use of the word “we”.

“I’m- ready,” he says, feeling like doing anything to stay near this alpha is going to be worth it. “I’m Harry.”

The alpha laughs. “No titles, tonight? I like it. I’m Louis.”

He doesn’t offer to shake Harry’s hand. He’s already clutching it. Harry finds himself gently steered back the way he came, keeping a half-step behind Louis, and breathing deeply. If they’re about to separate as soon as they enter the ballroom, Harry wants to have his scent memorised, so he knows for the rest of his life what the most beautiful alpha smelled like.

— 

This time there is no hesitation at the doorway, and as they walk through Harry takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with Louis’s scent. It’s still indescribable, but the more Harry breathes it in the more it takes on words, like  _ warm _ and  _ sharp _ and  _ spicy _ and with hints of something almost like the seasonal spice breads that he bakes in October.

But- but. Louis doesn’t let go of his hand. The scents and the sounds and the light of the room surround them and Harry is instantly overwhelmed but Louis’s hand, wrapped around his own, keeps him like an anchor, steady and  _ there. _

Harry does not know more than this alpha’s name and the way his eyes shine when he’s happy, but dear Lord does he want to know more. He wants to know what he looks like when he wakes, and what he thinks of bread pudding, and the way he dances when no one’s watching. 

Harry wants to remember his scent forever.

Louis leads him around the room, always a step ahead, and Harry struggles to banish the dizziness from his mind. He feels warm, and is thankful for the airflow when he begins to feel like he wants to hike up his sleeves and undo the bow at his neck. He concentrates on Louis in front of him, and not running over his feet, or into anyone that they pass by.

They skirt around the dance floor, where alphas and omegas are dancing in some sort of formal dance that they must have been taught as pups. There are people standing all around the outside of the room, speaking or drinking or slyly looking in the direction of the far end of the room where the princess sits. Harry looks in her direction - she’s speaking to an alpha who looks incredibly bored, and Harry feels a little affronted. This is  _ her _ party after all, at least pretend to look interested!

“Zayn!” Louis calls, and suddenly Harry realises that they’re headed  _ for the princess _ when the bored alpha looks up at them. 

He doesn’t look any less bored, although his lips do quirk up for the barest hint of a moment. “Ah, you’ve decided to reappear.”

“Don’t be rude, I know you didn’t miss me,” Louis says with a laugh. The alpha, Zayn, rolls his eyes. 

The princess is looking between them with a polite smile on her face. She looks even more flawless up close, her skin smooth and her lips that plump, pursed shape that all omegas aspire to have (at least, according to the articles). 

“Your highness,” Louis says, turning to her and bowing, one arm bent in front of him and the other still holding Harry’s. Harry realises halfway through that perhaps he should bow as well and scrambles to copy his movements, a quick bow that nearly unbalances the both of them. He hears Louis giggle a little and feels his ears growing red.

The princess’s gaze sweeps over the both of them, seeming to carry knowledge and wisdom beyond her years. “Prince Louis,” she says. “His highness here has been telling me all about your exploits, I hear you’re quite the troublemaker.”

Her words are serious, but her tone has the slightest hint of someone who knows more than she lets on, and she carries a bit of mirth inside that stern expression.

Louis laughs, seeming completely at ease. “I’m not sure ‘exploits’ is quite the right word,” he says. “It’s just a bit of fun now and again, finding things that people have forgotten about and all that.”

“Sounds dangerous,” the princess says. “Unnecessarily risky. Not my type of thing at all, but I suppose if it’s what brings you joy, I wouldn’t begrudge you that.”

She glances over at Harry for the first time, and Harry feels pinned to the spot. The princess looks him up and down and frowns. “You should be getting home,” she says, lowering her voice and making Harry feel like this comment is intimate; one just for them. “Before midnight, certainly.”

“Um,” says Harry, feeling like he has absolutely no clue what she’s talking about, but also feeling like the room is still getting warmer. “Yes, of course your highness.”

She looks concerned, but nods anyway. “I should be on my way,” she says. “I have a mate to pick out still, and the night is only growing longer.”

She stands, to an intimidating height of a head shorter than anyone around them, and moves with a gracefulness that makes Harry wonder if she’s got a hoverboard beneath the layers of her skirt.

He manages to suppress the giggle from that thought until she is out of earshot.

“And  _ that, _ alphas and omegas, is how a princess dismisses you from her dating pool,” Louis announced a moment later.

“I think you were her fastest rejection yet,” the alpha Zayn comments, still looking dutifully unimpressed. 

“Thank fuck,” says Louis. “Could you imagine? She’s not exactly my type to begin with.”

“No,” says Zayn. “It looks like you’ve already found your type.” 

He’s looking at Harry, and Harry’s eyes grow wide, his ears growing hot once again. 

“Oh, don’t let Zayn be an arse,” says Louis. He smiles and Harry melts. “Besides, that little dismissal means we get the rest of tonight to spend as we wish.”

“Until midnight,” Zayn says, and now he’s looking curiously at Harry as well. “What did that mean?”

“Um,” says Harry, realising he needs to speak now. “I’m… I don’t actually know.”

Louis snickers, and then outright laughs, squeezing Harry’s hand as he does so and making Harry giggle along with him. “Another mysterious statement from the princess! Perhaps it’s a prophecy.”

“Hm,” says Zayn. He does not look impressed.

“Don’t be such a wet blanket,” Louis says to Zayn. “Now, Harry and I are going go enjoy ourselves for a bit. That is, if that’s okay by you?”

He looks to Harry, and Harry feels the stars in the sky moving about to make way for the newest constellation visible in the blue of Louis’s eyes. Harry nods dumbly. He would like to follow Louis anywhere; the ends of the galaxy wouldn’t be adventure enough.

“Then off we go,” says Louis. He inclines his head to Zayn, a mockery of a bow between friends, and pulls Harry with him once again into the crowd of people.

“So,” Louis says, waiting for Harry to catch up and walk next to him. “Shall we dance? Shall we feast? Shall we see if we can explore and find the royal gardens?”

Harry thinks. He doesn’t want to think, he just wants to  _ do. _ “I can’t dance,” he says. 

“Dancing is a state of mind,” says Louis. “But continue.”

“It’s not a state I’ve ever visited,” says Harry, and then laughs. Loudly. He’d feel embarrassed, but Louis follows suit.

“That’s terrible,” Louis says. “You’re terrible. I like it.”

And Harry is finding himself pulled along again, this time in the direction of the sweets, his cakes on display front and centre.

“You need a little sugar in you,” says Louis.

“You’re sweet enough,” replies Harry, and then when Louis looks back and gives what Harry thinks is an endeared look, Harry thinks that he would be blushing right now, but he’s already so hot he can’t tell. There’s too many bodies in this room, has royalty never heard of proper temperature control?

“Ooh, look at this one, it’s got jam in the middle!” Louis says, taking a plate (not a compostable one but a real, beautiful blue ceramic one) and taking a slice of Harry’s prized victoria sponge. “We’re gonna get a variety,” he says, looking at Harry conspiratorially, “and we’re going to have a proper tea party.”

Harry has no idea what this means, but he nods anyway. Louis takes some of each cake and loads them onto a plate too practically small, and then grabs two of the small silver forks, handing them to Harry. “This is your job,” he says.

“Okay,” says Harry. He takes the forks. Louis has not let go of his other hand, and it’s terribly sweaty and he’s terribly embarrassed but these things happen, he supposes.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter because Louis is whisking him off again, through the crowd of bodies, and Harry has to spend all of his concentration on not running into anyone, one hand in Louis’s and one grasping tiny silver forks that are probably worth a month’s pay. He giggles; this is ridiculous. This whole day is ridiculous. It’s probably all a dream.

Louis leads him out through a different hallway this time, a more grand area that’s probably not meant for the servants. He slows their pace and the air is refreshingly cool; Harry can’t get enough of it, taking deep breaths and inhaling so much of Louis’s - only Louis’s - scent.

“Every royal palace has a garden,” Louis is saying. Harry tries to tune in, but he’s still a little dizzy, trying to catch his bearings as they go around corners and through doorways. “And every royal palace’s garden has a nice bench meant for sitting and eating cake.”

“Is that so?” says Harry.

“Obviously.” Louis seems to be leading them in a maze of hallways. “And we have cake. Therefore, we must find the royal gardens.”

“Therefore,” repeats Harry. “Obviously.”

Louis looks over at him with a smile that scrunches his nose. “Are you mocking me?”

“Absolutely not,” Harry says. “That would be ridiculous.”

“Yes it would,” Louis says. “Come on, then.”

Louis apparently has a knack for finding royal gardens, because it’s only a few more twists and turns until they come up against a large wooden door that, when Louis nudges it open with his foot, leads the way outside to a small stone path and more greenery than Harry has ever seen up close.

When Harry breathes in, it’s not just Louis’s delicious scent; it’s something fresh and clean, like water almost, and something sweet that reminds Harry of the lavender loaves he makes. There are flowers everywhere, their colours muted by the dark of  the evening sky, the sun lamps having been switched off.

“It’s beautiful,” breathes Harry, finally letting go of Louis’s hand to reach out and touch one of the leafy plants at the start of the path.

Louis laughs - softly, pleasantly. “Not a lot of greenery where you’re from?”

“Something like that,” Harry says. He’s suddenly a little self conscious. Louis is… probably someone important. The princess called him a  _ prince, _ didn’t she? Fuck, how is Harry supposed to go about telling Louis that he eats bread three meals a day?

“What’s it like where you’re from?” he asks instead, as Louis leads him in what is probably in the direction of a garden bench, as promised.

“Green,” Louis says with a laugh. “A lot like this, since Titan was colonised in order to make it seem as much like the original Earth as possible. They even included the fucking bugs.”

“Bugs?” Harry asks, eyes wide. Bugs are… scary. They’re not really present in space stations, save the occasional cockroach that scares the life out of Harry when he sees is. “Do you have flying ones? Or butterflies? Ooh, or glow worms?”

Louis laughs harder. “You’re quite the expert! We’ve got butterflies, and I assume there are glow worms somewhere, but I’ve never seen them. We’ve got a butterfly garden near my palace though, you should- I mean. If you wanted, you could come see it sometime.”

A bench appears in the middle of a finely manicured hedge. Harry feels himself blush as Louis takes off his jacket and lays it on the bench, motioning for Harry to sit. 

“And now,” Louis says, following suit and sitting just close enough for their legs to bump. “We feast.”

— 

Harry has very rarely been on the receiving end of one of his own cakes. He’ll eat his own breads, muffins and biscuits on the regular, but a cake this large he doesn’t generally have a reason to make if not to sell, so splitting all of these rich slices with Louis… He feels rather impressed with himself, actually. They’re all pretty delicious, and have held their shape well even during the travel through the castle.

The first thing Harry does is drop one of the forks, so they trade off bites instead, conversation leisurely and quiet, as if they could disturb the night around them by speaking too loud. It’s punctuated by laughs, giggles, and snorts that make Harry feel very un-royal but happier than he could have imagined. He keeps trying to let Louis speak, to talk about his family (sisters upon sisters) and home (his family reigns over a whole moon; they’ve a distant connection to the original British crown), yet Louis keeps somehow getting Harry to speak just as much, about the life he dreams of (with butterflies and greenery) and his hobbies (photography, baking and keeping Niall out of his pantry). 

He’s been fiddling with the ribbon around his neck for a while, loosening and loosening it because even in the garden the heat is  _ bothering _ him, it’s beginning to feel sauna-like. Eventually, he takes a moment to pull it off altogether in one swift motion, and as he turns back to Louis to mention the heat - 

Louis’s closer than he expected. Harry’s eyes grow wide for only a moment before their lips meet, and fireworks explode.

The kiss is the first kiss Harry has ever had, and he has none to compare it to in that moment, but he’s fairly sure that even if he did, this would best all others. Louis’s lips are soft but firm, and chaste like he’s asking for permission which Harry happily grants.

But those fireworks that explode, in the most amazing first kiss Harry has ever had, continue to go off, and things are clicking together in Harry’s mind as his whole body feels like it’s on fire, heat traveling through him like lightning.

He pulls back and Louis stumbles forward just a little, his hand landing on Harry’s leg and  _ oh no oh no, _ because that’s too close and his body  _ wants  _ it,  _ he _ wants it, and he knows this is  _ bad bad bad, _ but he’s not sure he’s going to understand  _ why  _ if he’s here for much longer and-

Princess Poppy. She knew. She could probably smell it on him, one omega to another.

“I’m sorry,” says Harry, scrambling up. His body doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to leave the alpha of his dreams. “I-I have to. I’m sorry. I have to-”

He takes a minute to look into Louis’s eyes, sees confusion but a dawning understanding. He must be able to smell it too, oh  _ no. _ He probably thinks Harry’s a terrible- a horrible- an absolute  _ slut muffin! _

Harry takes off running.

He hears Louis calling from behind him, but he can’t look back. If he looks back he’ll stop, and he’ll beg for things he shouldn’t, and he needs to get home and lock himself in his room and hope that Niall figures it out and gets someone to cover for the bakery.

Because his heat is coming on  _ very fast. _

— 

There is nothing as disgusting as Harry’s bed after his heat. It’s sweaty and gross and full of bodily things that he would  _ rather not think about, thank you very much. _

When the haze of heat breaks, the first thing Harry does is groan and roll onto the floor because it seems like it’ll be at least a  _ little _ more pleasant at this point. 

_ Shower. Step one is shower. _ Harry sits up and then groans, his lips parched and cracked.  _ Strike that, step one is drink your weight in water. _

He gets to his feet and groans as he stretches and feels what is probably  _ every bone in his body _ crack. Good. He trundles into the kitchen across from his room, reaching into the cupboard for a tumbler he can fill with ice cold water and take into the shower with him.

“Haz, you really need to learn to dress decently when company is over.”

_ “Holy fucking shit!” _ Harry screeches jumping up against the sink and turning around, looking for something to cover himself with. “Niall! You absolute fuck! What the fuck!” He ends up in a hacking cough, throat still incredibly parched.

Niall is lounging on his couch. How long has Niall been here? How did Niall get in?

“You need to get dressed,” says Niall. “Like, right now. We’ve got places to go.”

Harry just glares at him. The tea towel in front of his bits says  _ I loaf my life. _

Niall sighs dramatically and stretches across the couch as he does so. “I have been waiting for six hours now. Come on, I know you’re tired, but there are  _ more important things.  _ Your alpha boy is looking for you.”

“I don’t have an-” Suddenly it’s all coming back to him. The ball. The alpha. Louis. “Oh my god,” he croaks. “Niall I snogged a  _ prince!” _

Niall does not look impressed. “Shower,” he says. “Clothes. There isn’t much time.”

Harry still feels entirely spent, but he gets the feeling he’s not going to get more information from Niall until he does what he says, so he crab-walks in the direction of the shower, tumbler forgotten at the counter behind him. 

— 

A long hot shower is the best thing right after the end of a heat, but Harry is antsy the entire time, desperate to know what news Niall brings. It’s much too late not to get his hopes up; they’re already through the roof. 

“Okay,” says Harry, stepping back into his living room with a towel slung around his hips while he runs a second through his hair. “Come on, spill. What’s happening?”

“Sit,” says Niall, patting the space next to him. When Harry does, Niall sniffs and scrunches his nose. “Not your most thorough wash.”

“Shut up, I’ve been in bed for four days,” Harry says, elbowing him in the ribs. “Hurry the fuck up.”

“Right,” says Niall, opening up the intercommunicator on Harry’s ottoman. The holographic screen springs to life in front of them, showing - embarrassingly - the articles Harry had been reading about a week ago right before he’d gone to the ball, all about the best way to style your hair if you want to get laid. Harry tries to remain stoic as Niall closes the article and opens another.

“This was the day after the ball,” Niall says, pulling up a headline that reads  _ Foreign Prince Scorned by Mystery Omega. _

Directly below the headline is a picture of Louis - oh, Louis. He looks just as beautiful as Harry remembers, it wasn’t just heat-vision! - and then below that two out of focus pictures of Louis and Harry from the ball as they hurried through the crowd hand-in-hand. 

“You did fast work,” Niall comments before swiping the screen to another article, this one reading  _ Foreign Prince Asks for Info on Mystery Omega _ , followed by a picture of the ribbon Harry had torn from his neck, hanging neatly on a hanger. Harry reaches up and scrolls the screen to the text underneath.

_ Prince Louis of the moon Titan has asked that the mystery omega who went only by Harry, or anyone who has information about Harry, get in contact with him. He has issued a statement in which he says that he ‘only want[s] to know that Harry is safe and well’, and also ‘would like to continue where [they] left off’. Any information about Harry’s whereabouts would be heavily rewarded. _

“What the fuck,” Harry breathes, staring at the text. “Niall! Please tell me you told him!”

“I tried!” Niall says, and he starts loading a different page. “I did! As soon as I saw the article! But someone had beaten me to it!”

The next article makes Harry’s stomach drop.  _ Foreign Prince Scorned by Commoner Omega. _

“Shit,” Harry says.

“Yeah,” says Niall.

_ Prince Louis of the moon Titan has allegedly been sent a letter of refusal from his mystery omega this Sunday night, asking that he not pursue their relationship any further. The prince confirms that the letter does carry the scent of omega. The omega has been revealed to be no better than a commoner, and security is looking into how he was even able to enter the ball. Sources say… _

Harry stops reading. “That wasn’t me,” he says. “How would someone get my scent? How could Louis mistake my scent? I practically went into heat in front of him!”

“First of all ew,” says Niall. “Second of all,  _ get it!  _ Third of all, I think the answer can be found in the same person who emptied out your bank account the same day.”

Harry groans. “I don’t even want to know how you know that.”

_ “Harry _ this is important! Who has access to your bank account and things that have your scent on them?”

Oh. 

Oh shit.

“My dad?” Harry asks weakly, feeling like the world is bearing down on him. 

“Your uncle, Harry. You should really stop calling him your dad. No dad worth his shit would treat his son like this.”

“But  _ why?” _ Harry wails, faceplanting into Niall’s leg. “This seems worse than normal, even for him!”

Niall runs his fingers through Harry’s hair. Thank God for omegas knowing how to properly play with hair. “I get the feeling there’s more to the story, but you know gossip rags. Their information is never first hand.” 

“Still,” says Harry. “That was Louis! That was  _ my _ Louis! He kissed me on a bench in the garden and he tasted like spice and cake and glow worms!”

Niall snorts. “You’ve got it bad,” he said. “I didn’t realise it got so serious so fast!”

Harry sniffs. “I think I might have loved him,” he says. He knows he sounds ridiculous, he knew Louis for only an evening. But he felt… right. Like they had known each other in every life.

“Well good,” says Niall. “Because I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t give up on him that easily. Come on, Sleeping Beauty. We need to get you your prince back.”

— 

Niall’s personal train can only take them so far. For instance, it cannot take them to the moon Titan. For that reason, Harry has no idea what Niall’s plan is.

Still, he piles in the train car after Niall and it sets off at a much faster pace than Harry has ever ridden before. He clings desperately to one of the bars in the center of the carriage, too scared even to sit down.

“You’re going to owe me a massive favour after this,” Niall says. “But currently, I am owed a massive favour by somebody else.”

When it comes to a screeching halt, Harry finds that they are once again at the station that leads to the palace. Of course Niall has gotten another servant indebted to him. He’s wiley like that.

“Come on now,” Niall says. “No time to waste, hurry up.”

Harry begins to go in the direction of the servant quarters like last time, but instead Niall steers him toward the middle entrance - right to the front doors, large and heavy with knockers so high up no one can possibly be able to use them.

As soon as their feet hit the top step, the doors begin to creak inward, and Harry watches in awe as the front room of the palace is revealed to them. It’s just as grand as the ballroom, with black and white tiles on the ground and a number of alphas in uniform standing to attention. 

“Official business,” says Niall to one of them. “We’re here to see Princess Poppy.”

Harry’s eyes go wide. 

The guards nod and step aside. Niall links arms with Harry and drags him forward towards the stairs.

_ “Princess Poppy?” _ Harry hisses. “The favour is coming from  _ crown royalty?” _

Niall shrugs. “I introduced her to a very nice alpha named Liam who works in the mail department.”

What the fuck.

They continue up the stairs and through a number of corridors that, as always, make Harry incredibly dizzy. How does everyone else know how to navigate these so well? 

Suddenly they’re stopping in front of a smaller, more ordinary door. Niall knocks and waits a moment before it opens, revealing the princess in an oversized shirt and unbrushed hair. She looks… surprisingly normal.

“Niall,” she says. Then she glances at Harry. “Prince Louis’s omega.”

“Princess Poppy.” Niall says with a bow. Harry stumbles into a curtsy. 

“Are you calling in that favour, then?”

“I am,” says Niall. “We need a spaceship.”

— 

The spaceship is small. It’s apparently Princess Poppy’s personal ship. It has the words S.S. Sophie Petrillo in script across the side, named after a character on some old television show that apparently the princess loves, according to Niall.

Inside, it’s decorated rather like a twelve year old’s room; a lot of purple, fluffy pillows adorn the couches, and there are posters on the walls of horses, dragons and boybands. Harry takes a seat on the smaller of the two couches and finds himself staring directly at a poster of five boyband members with a logo across the top that reads One Direction. He’s never heard of them. 

“Poppy says she’s programmed in the coordinates and we’ll be there in six hours, give or take,” Niall says, taking a seat next to him. The artificial gravity is just a little off, and Harry feels a little extra heavy, like he’s eaten his weight in Christmas pudding. It’s a little off-putting, and he’s not sure he’s particularly fond of space travel after all. 

“How well do you know… the princess?” Harry asks, glancing suspiciously at Niall. 

Niall looks steadfastly ahead. “Oh y’know. As well as one gets to know their employer. “That guy - he really should not have gone for the bleach blond look. So overdone.”

Harry sighs and settles further into the couch, hugging one of the pillows to his chest. “I think you’re lying to me,” he says. “But I’ve still just barely gotten over my heat and haven’t had anything to eat yet. So I’m going to take a five hour nap and hope that when I wake up there’s food in front of me.”

“Acting like a spoiled prince already,” Niall says, although he doesn’t protest when Harry turns to lay lengthways across him on the couch.

— 

At ten minutes from arrival, Harry has worked himself into a right state. What was he  _ thinking? _ Why did he let Niall do this? Harry hasn’t been on a spaceship in his life, he’s barely been outside of his own train station! He’s going to get there, and the guards won’t let them in the front door! Or, they  _ will _ let them in the front door by some miracle, and Louis will laugh in his face. He’s had all of Harry’s heat to rethink things, and he’s probably feeling scorned what with that apparent letter of rejection.

Even if all of that worked out, what does Harry really expect to happen? He’s a commoner omega whose own mother left him on the doorstep of a man who kicked him out before he could even finish school. No one - save Niall, for whatever odd reason - has ever seen anything good in him. There’s a reason he’s resigned himself to a life in the bakery talking to old women as he serves them their soughdough. 

“We can’t turn the ship around,” Niall says, handing him a sandwich from who-knows-where. He could probably see the turmoil on Harry’s face from where he’s still half-lying on the couch. “So you can’t freak out because it doesn’t matter whether you do or not.”

“I can’t do this,” says Harry. He takes a bite of the sandwich. He can eat a sandwich. He can’t meet the prince.

“You absolutely can,” says Niall. “And you don’t have a choice because I’m not taking you home until you do.”

“Why do you  _ care _ so much?” Harry asks, feeling emotional. 

Niall smiles one of his mysterious smiles. Harry hates his mysterious smiles. “Because I know what it’s like,” he says. “Being a minute from happiness but feeling a mile. And I’ve been friends with you long enough to know that no one deserves it more than you.” 

The ship gives an enormous lurch and Harry realises that they may very well have landed. 

“Plus,” says Niall, standing. “It’s my goal to destroy the patriarchy, and there’s no better way to do that than to infiltrate years of royal blood with much more deserving commoner blood.”

He walks away. Harry stares after him. He has no idea if he’s joking.

“Come on, Harry!” Niall calls from the entrance. “We’ve got you a prince to mate!”

— 

After dithering a while longer, Harry does eventually follow Niall. The door of the spaceship slides open, and he blinks at the light. The gravity isn’t as heavy as on the space station, or the ship, and after a few moments of adjusting, Harry does begin to feel a bit lighter, inside and out.

Niall grins at him. “Welcome to Titan, Harry!” he says. He sweeps one arm grandly around and Harry looks where he gestures, finding that they’ve landed on the roof of a palace much larger than the one belonging to the royal family back home. It’s sprawling out around them, and Louis was right - there’s greenery as far as the eye can see.

_ Louis. _

Harry gulps. Louis is here. 

Niall is already heading off in the direction of two guards who are stood nearby, looking very official in old fashioned beefeater hats and red uniforms. He’s saying something that Harry can’t hear, and after some sort of hushed conversation he turns back and Harry finds himself being motioned over.

Niall puts his arm around him. “Harry, these wonderful gentlemen say that they would love to escort you to his highness Prince Louis.”

Niall is… insane. _ “What?”  _ Harry hisses.  _ “Why?” _

Niall just grins at him, raising an eyebrow. “Did I ever tell you I have a sister?” he says. He begins walking backward toward the ship. “Half sister, actually. Pretty popular girl, she is. Named after a flower. Has a number of connections. Might have let them know we were coming.”

He disappears behind the ship and Harry isn’t sure whether to laugh or scream at him to get his arse back here.

“Excuse me, Prince Harry,” one of the guards says, drawing his attention back. “If you would just follow me, I can show you the way to his highness’s apartments.”

Harry gulps. He’s a prince now? Oh dear.

The guard turns and holds the door open for Harry to follow him, which he scurries to do so. The guard walks in silence and Harry does all he can to hasten to keep up.  _ Oh god, _ he thinks as they round another corner in yet another maze of a palace.  _ Do I still smell like heat? I bet I do. Shit. I’m in a castle on a foreign moon and I smell like heat and I’m about to basically proposition an alpha prince. Oh fuck. _

One corridor made of stone, one with a red carpet running the length of the hall, one with sconces on the walls, one with overhead lights. They become bigger, nicer, grander the further they go. Left, straight, left again and suddenly Harry is running straight into the back of the guard, who doesn’t budge in the slightest.

“His highness the prince’s quarters,” says the guard, making a grand sweeping motion and then… 

Leaving.

He fucking leaves.

And Harry is alone.

At the door to the prince’s quarters.

Harry spends a long time staring at the door. It’s not particularly noteworthy. A light shade of plum. Brass knocker. If he breathes in deeply he can smell, very faintly, Louis’s glorious scent.

He breathes very deeply for a long time.

He does not think about knocking. He thinks maybe he will just grow old and die here, standing in front of this door. This door that separates him from the most perfect alpha, who gives the most perfect kisses.

He spends so long breathing deeply, and thinking, that eventually the door opens.

And Harry freezes.

Louis, one hand on the door, also freezes.

“Um,” says Harry.

Louis closes the door.

“No, wait!” Harry shouts, suddenly very scared. He tries the door handle. He pulls the door. It opens, and Louis, still holding onto the knob on the other side, comes with it.

“Shit,” says Harry, letting go of the door. “Sorry! Um. Can I- talk? To you?”

“Didn’t you already?” Louis asks, words biting. “What, come back to say you’ve changed your mind? You’ll take a second-rate piece of royal ass?”

Louis’s tone is low, almost a growl that reverberates in Harry’s heart, squeezing it and bringing tears to his eyes. His inner omega cries of  _ upset alpha, angry alpha, make it up to alpha _ and he does what he can to keep his instincts at bay, keep from literally begging at Louis’s feet.

“I- I know what it probably sounded like,” Harry says. “But that wasn’t me!”

Louis gives him an icy glare that makes Harry wilt. “You went into heat in front of me,” he says. “I think I know your scent.”

There are tears in Harry’s eyes now, more than threatening to spill over. “I know,” he says, all but a whisper. “Please, I know! But- I’ve been in heat for the last four days! It couldn’t have been me! Listen, I swear it sounds crazy, but I- I think my father sent that letter.”

“Your father.”

“Yes!” Harry looks down at his feet. “I mean. You don’t have to believe me. And I don’t know what was in that letter. But you have to know I- I would never have rejected you like that. Or at all. My father he- well. He’s my stepfather. My uncle. It’s confusing. Please don’t hate me.”

He keeps staring at his shoes, waiting for Louis to close the door on him. He’ll have to find his way out of the palace alone. He won’t make it. He’ll be lost forever in these winding corridors. It’d be a fitting ending for someone with a broken heart. Wandering the halls of the alpha he-

Harry isn’t even aware of the tears falling until a hand brushes them away. 

“Hey,” says Louis. “I couldn’t do that.” He pulls Harry to him and wraps his arms around him, strong and reassuring. “I couldn’t hate you. My mystery omega.”

Harry hiccups. He leans into Louis’s hold, trying to wipe the tears from his eyes. “I’m not - not royalty,” he points out. “I’m a mystery because I’m a commoner. I own a bakery at a train station in the middle of nowhere and my only friend is Niall who somehow found out how to hack into my bank account and deposit money.”

Louis growls and Harry tenses a little until he says, “No one takes care of my omega but  _ me.” _

Harry giggles. He hiccups. He giggles again. Louis’s arms tighten around him. 

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m pretty sure Niall will be fine with that.”

Louis’s fingers will make imprints in Harry’s back at this rate, and, after a moment, the ghosting of his lips across Harry’s collarbone makes him shiver. He can feel Louis smile against his skin after he does, and a second later he’s being pulled forward, into the chambers of Prince Louis of the moon Titan.

“I want to know everything,” Louis says softly. “Everything about you, my omega. Tell me about your bakery.”

And the door shuts behind them.

— O — 

The bond ceremony of His Royal Highness, Prince Louis of the moon Titan, and Lord Harry Styles takes place in the spring. The church where they are bonded is decorated with every kind of flower, and butterflies are let loose when it is finished.

Princess Poppy and her Mate Betrothed, Sir Liam, are in attendance, as are Niall and Bressie. The gossip articles talk about Harry’s odd fashion choices, and Louis’s poor mate choices, and Harry doesn’t care one bit, because when they share their first dance together†, Harry leans down - just a little - and Louis leans up - just a little - and they brush noses and brush lips and Harry wonders if any omega has ever been as lucky as him.

Surely not, he thinks to himself as Louis cuts him a slice of victoria sponge, and they slip out the side to find the bench in the royal gardens to share.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all know this by now. I'm [LondonFoginaCup](http://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com) on tumblr, [here's my fic post](http://londonfoginacup.tumblr.com/post/177812349529/bentley-station-now-arriving).


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